We Were Shotgun Lovers
by karevsprincess
Summary: "Maybe someday they'll write plays about us – people love something dark and tragic." AU, one-shot. Spencer and Toby as Bonnie and Clyde.


**A/N**: For the longest time I wanted to do a Bonnie and Clyde inspired AU and I decided now was the time. I really don't have a lot to say about this, though I will tell you I'm actually pretty proud of the outcome, which is rare for me. Normally whenever I write something I convince myself it's not very good.

I tried to incorporate a lot of 1930s slang in this for the sake of accuracy. I think it's fairly self-explanatory, but you might want to pull up the website I used in case you get lost. I'm not allowed to post a link but if you Google '1930s slang' it's the very first search result.

The title and lyrics come from the song "Rollercoaster," by Bleachers because it's been stuck in my head and I found the term "shotgun lovers" very very fitting for this one-shot.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own _Pretty Little Liars_ or the title inspiration.

* * *

_It was summer when I saw your face_

_Looked like a teenage runaway_

_And God I never thought we'd take it that far_

_Some killer queen you are_

_We took the bones out from the road_

_Those endless nights that we traveled we stole_

_You let your clothes fall to the floor_

_And lit a fire while I waited for more_

* * *

She reapplies another layer of lipstick and discreetly checks out her surroundings in the mirror as she waits for the cashier to reappear from the back room. Once she's added another coat of red she tucks it back inside her purse and fixes her waves with her fingers, because no one ever suspects a pretty girl who seems to only care about her looks – even in a gun shop.

The cashier comes back a moment later from the storeroom, her request in hand. "You sure you need this much ammo, doll?" He says to her and she tries to hide her displeasure. She hates it when anyone calls her "doll" or "dame" or "broad" – anyone but him, anyway. Because when a stranger talks to her that way, there's something demeaning about it – but not with him, never with him.

"I'm sure," She says. "My boyfriend's teaching me how to shoot. Got to protect ourselves, you know. Times are desperate and you know what people stoop to when they're desperate. How much do I owe you?" She digs into her purse for the cash, trying not to flash the freshly bundled bills. She's actually going to pay today because she's low on bullets and they scored a lot of loot at their last stop before they started to head out of Texas.

As the cashier gets her change she scans the store and her blood runs cold. A guy has just walked in and he's looking at her funny as she stands in the corner of the store. Most would just shake this off as him checking her out, but she knows better. His clothes, his stance – he's a cop.

"Keep the change," She barks and the cashier smiles because he thinks she's being nice but it's really just self-preservation. She grabs her purchases and walks briskly when a voice cuts in.

"Miss,"

She freezes at the sound of the cop's voice and takes a split second to make her decision. An amateur would run, or pull a gun on him. Instead, she simply turns on her heel and meets his gaze as if to say 'I've got nothing to hide'. That's the key – act confident. In any case, she's got a pistol tucked in her pantyhose and she knows she can take him out with one shot if she has to. She always packs heat, just in case.

Instead the cop simply bends down and extends his hand to her – in it lays a five-dollar bill. "You dropped your Lincoln, little darling."

She smiles and takes the money, shoving it back into her purse. "Thank you." He tips his fedora in her direction and she makes tracks out of there before he can realize she's the wanted criminal.

He's sitting behind the wheel of the 1931 Cadillac, his hat half covering his face and a half-smoked cigar between his lips that he'd just lit when she left. "What took you so long?" Toby asks as she slides into the other seat.

"Just drive," She says, tossing a cartridge onto his lap fitting for his favorite gun. "There's a copper inside and he's already got one good look at me."

He curses loudly but does as he's told and a moment later they're speeding out of the parking lot. "Jesus Christ, Spencer. Did he recognize you?"

"I don't think so," She replies, searching around for a pack of Camels. "I dangled out of there before he could. By the time the twit realizes the girl he gave the five-dollar bill back to was Spencer Hastings herself we'll be long gone."

He chuckles and takes one hand off the wheel to light her cigarette for her. "That's my girl."

She smirks and looks out the window, blowing a ring of smoke. It's hard now to believe that she once was a high society airhead who wore dresses Mommy picked out and was getting ready to marry a boy who Daddy chose. When she'd first crossed paths with Toby Cavanaugh at a friend's hop, her first instinct had been to run in the other direction – after all, she'd been taught to be a good girl and good girls didn't associate with boys who'd just been sprung from a prison sentence. But meeting him made it very clear to her – she'd never been a good girl. She had just as much ice in her veins as he did. And boy, it was so much more fun to be bad.

After years on the road together the cops were starting to get onto them now, but they'd been gravely underestimated. They thought she was some stupid gun moll who didn't know how to work a trigger. Really she was the brains behind the gang's operation – maybe she should give some of those smarts to them cops, make it a fair fight.

Toby eases one hand off the wheel and places it on her thigh, her dress bunching up under his fingers. "I don't want to stay for long," She says, pulling her cigarette out of her mouth. "We almost got busted back in Dallas. We need to keep it moving."

"I know," He replies, and he tears his trademark blue peepers away from the road to gaze at her. "You know that you're my priority, right? I'm not gonna let you get caught."

A smile dances across her cherry red lips as she puts out her cigarette. "You and me both. It's just us – the public enemies." She hears him laugh under his breath as she uses the term the radio stations have taken to calling them. _Toby Cavanaugh and Spencer Hastings – criminals, outlaws, public enemies, their crime spree must be stopped_.

Public enemies or not, she just knows her life is so much better with him in it.

* * *

The ride takes a little while longer, they're inching closer and closer to the border. He drives while she fills up the mini arsenal in their back seat, as well as her pistol. She keeps that little bean shooter on her at all times, even when she sleeps. The only time it's ever not on her is when they're fooling around, and even then it's never farther away from the nightstand. That's what happens when you're on the run from the law – you gotta sleep with your eyes open.

They pull up at the house half past nine. They're in a residential neighborhood, but the house on the corner is alive, practically every light in the house on and laughter ringing out so loud that you can hear from the front drive. They leave most of their things in the car, which he pulls into the garage that's been left open for them gangster style – front outwards, so they can make a clean getaway. Spencer throws her fur around her shoulders as she steps out of the car, while she spots Toby hunched over the backseat. A moment later he stands upright again, a blanket covered lump under his arm. "Just in case," He says and she nods in understanding as they walk up the front stoop. That M1918 Browning Automatic Rifle was his weapon of choice – ever since he went to prison, he's never liked being far away from it.

Toby only has to do the secret knock once before the door opens. Emily stands there, togged to the bricks in a Chanel cotton evening dress. "I was worried you were never going to get here. Come inside, everyone's here."

She takes their coats and Toby's hat – the BAR left in a safe place where it will be close at hand - before leading them down to the basement, the source of all the noise. The card table has been set up in its usual spot and Emily was right – the gang's all there. Caleb is dealing, Hanna perched on his knee – she'd done something to her hair, in an effort to mimic Joan Crawford. Ezra finishes off a cigar while Mona practically throws herself all over him – the little flirt – and across the table Aria gives her a predatory glare as she drinks her cup of booze. Mike – a younger guy and Mona's boy toy, he's Toby's new protégé – is looking at his cards confusedly but when he sees them walk down the stairs he smiles and rises. "The boss is back!" He says. "It's been so long, we were starting to worry."

The two men greet each other before the returning duo make their way around the rest of the table, reuniting with the rest of their gang. "Coppers are no match for us," Toby tells Mike proudly. "Deal us in, Caleb."

"Both of you?" Ezra says with a raised eyebrow as the two of them slip into the empty seats. Caleb sends two hands of cards sliding their way.

"Scared I'll beat you again, Z?" Spencer asks as she picks up her hand - it's a damn good one too. "I know you're such a pill when you lose, especially to a woman."

He smirks at her, rising to her challenge. "Hope you brought your A-game, kitten. I'm showing no mercy."

Toby shakes his head. "It's your funeral, you know how competitive Spence gets."

"So," Caleb interjects as he tosses a handful of chips into the center. "What have the two of you been up to since we saw you last?"

"Running, what else?" Aria pipes up, causing the rest of them to laugh. "Spencer and Toby have got more cops on their tail than the rest of us combined. Just be glad they didn't come back to us cuffed. Now, who wants hooch?" Ever since Prohibition ended the gang had been buying enough alcohol to keep an entire business afloat singlehandedly.

"Oh a little bit of this, a little bit of that. You know how it is." Toby responds, cursing under his breath as he takes in his bad hand of cards. "A couple banks, but mostly small stores. Got a really nice Cadillac outside, that was difficult to get."

"You didn't!" Mona interjects, but she already knows they did. They've gotten plenty of blood on their hands over the years – this fella was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and unlucky enough to have a car they liked.

Ezra takes a puff of his cigar, then jabs the end in their direction. "That flatfoot, in Dallas. Was that you?" Toby only nods in response. The detective had pulled them over on the side of the road – it wasn't like they could let the nosy guy live to tell his buddies. He knew exactly who they were as soon as he saw them.

"You make me positively nervous," Emily says, wringing her hands. "Your body count is getting too high. Maybe it's time to come clean, Toby…"

"He doesn't have to come clean," Spencer snaps, her whiskey glass half raised to her lips. "I was the one who gave the flatfoot lead poisoning, anyway."

The table goes silent, the rest of the gang clearly shocked. Usually Toby's the one who gets his hands dirty – she's the brains, he's the brawn. And now she's just admitted to shooting a cop at the poker table. It's not like she's never been the one to pull the trigger before because she has – and she's a damn good shot too. But killing a cop is different. It even feels different – the rush of emotions is so much more overwhelming. Afterwards, she'd been almost intoxicated, in a state of disbelief.

"What are you gonna do when you get caught?" Hanna asks finally.

Something about it unsettles her – _when_ you get caught, not if. With a slight sigh, Spencer shoves her cards forward. "I fold. Goodnight." She mutters, before getting up and storming upstairs.

* * *

She goes and sits in their usual room for when they sleep at Em's. It was where they spent their first night together actually – a couple years back after their first spree. Back then she'd still been scared by all of this, prone to nervous fits and terrified by the thought of carrying a gun. All it had taken was one love making session from him to assure her she was on the right path. She loved him and this was his world, which made it hers too. Being without him was worse – it was like walking around without her heart in her chest.

"Hey," He says, catching her off guard. He steps through the doorway and places his half-empty whiskey on the ground before sitting next to her on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong, dollface? You know Em just worries too much, that's all."

He brushes his thumb across her cheek and she looks up, her eyes welling up with tears she refuses to cry. "I can't go to jail, Toby. I can't, I won't."

He takes a swig of his drink and is silent for a long moment. "I won't let that happen to you, Spence. You're not going to go through what I did." She knows now he's remembering it – being in prison. She can see it in his eyes.

To some people, what they were doing may seem like just a game – that they were just two cold-blooded criminals looking for a good time. But she knows better. Being in prison, boy how it had messed him up. You didn't know pain until you were a teenage boy thrown in jail because you had resorted to petty theft to feed himself after his deadbeat dad skipped out on his mom. This wasn't a game, it was a statement – a statement to the system that had abused him so much.

"You know there's no way we're getting away with this, right?" She mumbles. "There's only two ways this can end for us, and if it's not jail it's…"

"The kiss off," He finishes for her. "I know. But we got time before that."

"How much time?" She asks. "A year? Two years? Less?"

He shrugs. "I honestly don't know. It could be a year or two, it could be tomorrow. Hell, I don't know. But what I do know is that I'm not scared to die – not with you by my side."

She smiles to herself. "These violent delights have violent ends."

"That from one of your books, dollface?" He asks, to lighten the mood.

She can't help but chuckle. "I read it a long time ago – Shakespeare. I know we're gonna go out but when we do…I want to go out big, you know?" As sick as it is, she can suddenly imagine herself – bloody and broken but still beautiful even with her body full of bullet holes. She can imagine the words of poetry that will line her gravestone as she rests in eternal sleep beside him. At least if she's going to Hell, she knows she'll have company there. It's sick and it's twisted, but well they're sick and twisted too. "Maybe someday they'll write plays about us – people love something dark and tragic."

"Oh babe," He whispers, a smirk on his face. "Surely they will. You can't make stuff like this up – we're as dark and tragic as it gets.."

* * *

_And now I'm running and I can't stop anywhere I go_

_I think about it everyday and night I can't let go_

_Man, I'm never the same_

_We were shotgun lovers_

_I'm a shot gun running away_

_So come a little closer_

_There is something I can tell yeah_

_You are such a roller coaster_

_And a killer queen you are_


End file.
